


Meme Ficlet: Parallel Structure

by greywash



Series: Meme Ficlets (Spring 2012... and onward) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/pseuds/greywash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Meme ficlet, archived off Tumblr; unbeta'ed and un-Britpicked.</em>
</p><p><strong>airynothing requested</strong>: [...] I will go with pi. What happens if 1 has to choose between 3 and 4? And then meets 5?</p><p>
  <strong>1. Moriarty<br/></strong>
  <strong>3. John<br/></strong>
  <strong>4. Irene<br/></strong>
  <strong>5. Lestrade</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meme Ficlet: Parallel Structure

**Author's Note:**

> On all of these where someone asked for 15 (or where Moran came up without prompting, as here), I have been reserving the right to use any version of Moran, either from my own stuff, like "The Good Morrow", or a more ACD!canon inspired version, or... other.
> 
>  **Warning for disturbing content**. My full warnings policy is in my [profile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/profile), or you can [email me](mailto:greywash@gmail.com).

Jim wonders, a little, if Irene realizes what she's done. She's proud of herself for getting under Sherlock's skin, but it does make Jim's longer-term decisions... a touch more interesting. Jim had been planning for John. John had been the obvious choice, really, such a helpful litttle thing, and so blatantly the target of all of Sherlock's worst and weakest squashy emotional ideas, but Irene—Irene. Chivalry is of course a weakness that Jim appreciates in others, but he's a little disappointed at the idea that Sherlock might be vulnerable to it, too. Sherlock helps Irene disappear for most people, but not for Jim. Not ever for him.

Irene or John, Irene or John. Irene? John? John _first_? Or Irene first, then John?

Decisions, decisions.

In the end, Jim simply arranges for two: two bullets, two gunmen, two victims. Inelegant, possibly, but it's the simplest solution. Nothing to slip through the cracks, then; no hope for John's bravery, no hope for Irene's resourcefulness. Just Jim and Sherlock and a long, long fall. Jim's been planning this for a long time. Wouldn't do to go in half-cocked.

But then.

Greg. Gregory. Handsome Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Greg proves to be a complication. Jim thought for ages that Sherlock simply tolerated him, the least-difficult lock to pick on the Met's least-carefully guarded door, but the events in Dartmoor change things, rather. And Jim's stay in the care of the elder Holmes is really very educational. Jim knows all sorts of things, now. He knows that Greg bullied and bribed and improvised and somewhere along the way Sherlock got clean; the best kind of magic trick, the sort that's barely a trick at all. Jim knows that for three Christmases in a row, Sherlock kipped on the Lestrades' sofa and once, just the once, demonstrated the appropriate relationship between a microwave and a marshmallow for the Lestrade children, which proved to be rather a hit (with the children) and also a source of marital friction (between the elder Lestrades). Greg is steady and earnest and hard-working; he is also on Sherlock's side, and that, of course, is the most delicious detail of all.

Jim tongues at the corner of his mouth. Then he makes a call.

It's an improvement, he thinks. Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. Lovely. It's poetic, he thinks. Parallel structure and whatnot. He's very fond of stories, and he doesn't like to brag, but—wait, no, that's untrue, he absolutely does like to brag. Especially when there's something worth bragging about. And there is absolutely something to brag about, with this one.

"Don't tell me you don't like it, love," Jim says, rubbing his cheek against Sebastian's knee. "It's elegant, _and_ it involves guns, and I do know how you love guns."

"You're like a cat," Sebastian tells him, his voice rumbling down through bones and blood and into Jim's skin.

"Homicidal and only affectionate when it pleases me?" Jim asks. He'd bat his eyelashes, but his head is bowed down, so Sebastian wouldn't see.

"Incorrigible." A heavy hand lands in his hair. Jim purrs.

"You know how I hate to ask questions," Sebastian says, slowly, "but—Irene?"

Oh, now. That's not nice. Jim frowns. "You're upsetting my story," he says, and turns to look up at him. "Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. It's the way it ought to be."

"I'd go after the landlady, personally," Sebastian says, as casually as though he doesn't care in the least, and Jim grabs at Sebastian's ankle and digs his hand in, fingers in, hard enough that he can feel tendons spreading and separating, just at the very edge of permanent damage.

Sebastian's face doesn't change in the least. "Whatever you think is best, of course," he says, very evenly, and Jim breathes out, and loosens his hand, and smiles up at Sebastian's chin, as Sebastian looks away, saying, without interest, "Your decision, as always."

"Of course," Jim says, and pets at Sebastian's ankle, and leans back against Sebastian's knee. After a moment, Sebastian runs his fingers through Jim's hair, and says nothing, two things that always do help Jim think. "The landlady," Jim says, thoughtfully. "Certainly more convenient—where's Irene hiding these days?"

"Oahu," Sebastian rumbles. "Getting a tan."

"Hm." Jim asks, "You don't want to go to Hawai'i?"

"Without you?" Sebastian asks, without inflection, and Jim beams.

"We do make a good team, don't we?" Jim tells him, and then pushes his fingers in around Sebastian's achilles, just to remind him that he can.

"Always," Sebastian says, and looks back out the window.

"Always," Jim agrees, then rubs his cheek at Sebastian's leg until Sebastian goes back to petting him. "Good," Jim tells him, settling. "Perfect."


End file.
